TWENTY-NINE #3
“Still a hard no.”
“Compound strangers who may or may not have a murder basement hidden in there,” she tries.
I nod. “That one works.”
She points at me. “See? Look at that. Teamwork.”
Before I can answer, a shout carries from somewhere behind us. It’s distant but sharp.
Vector.
Dakota hears it, too, and the moment ends quickly. She drops through the hatch without waiting for help, landing with a soft grunt. I follow after, boots hitting dusty concrete a second later.
The access room is cramped and dim, filled with old maintenance shelves and broken cleaning supplies. Xeon has the pilot upright while Kaito covers the door. Ewan’s head is tilted as he listens like only he can.
“Movement above and behind,” Ewan says. “Not on us yet.”
“Then we move,” I say.
Dakota lifts one brow and I catch myself.
“Door leads toward the clinic side,” I add. “If my read’s right, it should bring us out by the outer perimeter without crossing the alley.”
Her brow lowers, only barely. Approval, maybe? Or less disapproval. I’ll honestly take either.
We pass through the access room and into a narrow back hall. The clinic has been stripped but not destroyed. Cabinets hang open, old posters curl on the walls, and someone painted arrows in black along the floor, all pointing toward the front exit.
It’s too neat. Too useful.
I stop before I step over the first one, and Dakota stops next to me. This time, I don’t need to point.
“Bait?” she whispers.
“Could be.”
“Or old evacuation markings.”
“Could be,” I repeat.
She looks over at me. “You’re doing that annoying two-problem thing again.”
“Feels efficient.”
“It feels like pessimism wearing boots and carrying a rifle,” she contradicts.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Her eyes narrow. “Don’t ma’am me.”
“Noted.”
Ewan murmurs from behind us, “Oh god, their flirting is just getting more and more aggressive.”
“We’re not flirting,” Dakota and I say at the exact same time.
Silence answers, then Kaito, dry as the dust that coats the floor, says, “Sure, that was really convincing.”
Dakota makes a sound of pure disgust before pushing ahead, but she checks the floor before every step. I check the walls, offering mutual competence. I mean, there are worse things to build on.
We avoid the painted arrows and cut through a records room instead, then a supply hall, then a broken consultation room with one wall blown out into the back courtyard.
The outer perimeter is right there. Close enough now that I can hear voices on the other side of the barricade.
Close enough to smell cooking smoke under the rot and damp I’ve grown used to.
Close enough to see the gate mechanism welded from scavenged parts, reinforced with chains and steel bars.
Close enough to notice the fresh boot prints outside it.
Not Vector.
Compound.
And a lot of them. Recently, by the looks of things. They knew trouble was coming. Or they bring trouble out here often enough to leave a trail.
Dakota steps up beside me, shoulder almost aligned with mine. Not behind, and not in front. Next to me. Her gaze tracks the boot prints, the gate, the watch post, and the blind corner close to the concrete barriers where the guards dragged that body.
She says nothing, but she doesn’t need to. I see it, too.
The compound walls rise over us, tall enough to block the sun from this side of the street. For a second, Dakota falls into their shadow and disappears under the brim of her hat. My chest tightens, but not with panic. With purpose.
Dangerous thing, purpose. It can make a man noble, or it can make him fuckin’ cruel.
I keep my voice low. “There are guards above. Gate ahead. Blind corner on the right. Signs of recent movement outside the wall. We don’t know their rules yet.”
Dakota looks at me, but I don’t tell her what to do. I let the facts float between us until she finally nods. “Then we don’t let them decide the shape of us before we get inside.”
Something in me goes still. Not soft, and not sweet. Still. Because that’s exactly it.
The shape of us.
This battered, bleeding, half-formed thing we’ve become on the road. Not a pack. Not yet. Maybe never in any way I’ll ever understand. But something. Something I don’t want those walls to split apart.
Ewan shifts behind us. Kaito breathes through his pain. Xeon adjusts his hold on the pilot. And at the top of the nearest watch post, a guard sees us. His rifle comes up as he shouts, “Hands where I can see them!”
Every muscle in me begs to step in front of Dakota, but I don’t. I move a half step closer to her side instead. It’s close enough to cover, but not enough to cage, and Dakota notices. Of course she does.
Her eyes flick to me for half a second, then back to the guard. Slowly, very deliberately, she raises one hand. Not both. Never both.
I almost smile, but then the compound gate groans.
Locks shift.
Chains scrape.
And as the first face appears between the bars, I realize the walls were never the part that had me the most worried.
It was what people become once they’re standing behind them.